


Lawless

by Nichevoya



Category: Glass Sword - Victoria Aveyard, Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Drabble, Glass Sword, Implied Torture, Maven - Freeform, Maven/Mare, Mini-Fic, Red Queen - Freeform, Writing Prompt, mare - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichevoya/pseuds/Nichevoya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rough drabble/mini-fic that skips around but picks up after the events of Glass Sword. Mare has undergone endless experiments with the Sounding Machine (Sounder for short) and Silence Stone; Maven is none-too-kind with his visit, though the gentleness of his actions or gestures betray otherwise and is reminded of how he is never what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lawless

**Author's Note:**

> Important: THIS FOLLOWS UP POST-GLASS SWORD. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ IT YET!
> 
> Also important: I'm terrible and haven't written anything substantial in FOREVER. I apologize, in advance, for how ridiculously rough this entire thing is, and it is my first piece for a fandom other than Hellsing (which is where my best writing lies). My favorite part is written in the first paragraph; it is the only place of my pride. 
> 
> In conclusion, this is a very rough and short piece that I've picked at and added to over the course of a month. 
> 
> Music inspiration: Lawless, by Colours (from their album - Ivory).

     His lips are moving, soundless to her, though the curl of them suggests a kindness that borders cruelty. She blinks at him frantically, struggling between the pain and the too bright lights. Pale knuckles find the edges of her cheeks, gently wiping at the tears that started to slide down them. The feel of his skin  _ hurt _ . It was such a small trace of contact, but it seemed to reach somewhere deep within her and tear at every seam, threatening to unravel her entirely. All at once she felt the weight of exhaustion, of an absence. She realized now that the room must be reinforced with silence stone. That and the undoubtedly endless hours of being subdued through experiments, the sounder doing it’s job of inflicting pain and dampening her senses ( _ not that it was necessary, but likely similar to a cat toying with a mouse _ ), and of course, Maven himself. His very presence made her weak; made her sick and reminded her of how this had been done willingly. She came back to him, and she couldn’t exactly say he’d broken that vow. For all she knew, Jon had actually helped them. A worse fate could be waiting for her, could be cursing the Calore crown and the little lightning girl for evading its clutches. Death himself could be snarling at Maven’s heels and yet, she suspected even he was kept on a chain and collar. She mused for the briefest moment that it might even be less sumptuous than her own. 

 

     How long had her eyes been closed? How long had the darkness seemed to numb and mollify her enough to find a place of momentary peace? When she blinked them open again and heaved a breath, she caught sight of Maven’s mouth opening again. He wasn’t quite facing her now, and only a single word was issued. She read it well enough;  _ leave _ . It was hard to make out the size of the room, though she imagined it wasn’t very big. An entire palace but he refused to give her any sort of luxury. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone else to see him spoil her. She was a  _ trophy _ , after all. A ringing started in her ears, painful at first until it quieted and was only a mild annoyance. Once it had finally cleared and her eyes opened - apparently clenched shut from the noise - she saw him. It wasn’t like before. Now she really saw him; every detail from the smoldering blue orbs that bore into her, to the seemingly sharper edges of his cheekbones and the shadows under his eyes. He wore exhaustion the way Silvers wore their prized jewels and finest silks. To anyone who hadn’t glimpsed the younger heir, the shadow of the flame, he would seem bored. She knew the truth, saw what he really was - or rather, the fragments of what he had possibly always been. It was hard to tell what was real and what was fake. She might have simply imagined it all… having yearned for something,  _ anything _ to hold onto and hope for while stuck in such a dangerous charade. 

 

     “Look at me,” he repeated, knowing well enough she hadn’t been listening. It was hard for her to focus, he knew. Her body was reacting - catching up to the pain it hadn’t been entirely awakened to. A healer hasn’t touched her in quite some time, and now the only things bearing down on her were the restraints and the stone walls around them. She didn’t react fast enough, because soon there was a bruising grip on her chin and her head was turned, too gently, in his direction, forced to meet his gaze. The strange sensation was back; he was talking, lips moving, ringing in her ears and still, there was an absence of _ sound _ . Better yet, she could hear the muffled, fuzzy workings of words, but couldn’t make out the way they fit together or what they meant. Suddenly, she could feel a pressure released. Though they were heavy, she was able to move her arms. Without much thought, Mare brought a hand up, slowly, agonizingly slow, to her ear. Blood. Her blood, only somewhat tacky. Fresh, sort of. Then it struck her, strange and brows quickly furrowed with the question she didn’t need to ask. No, she  _ felt _ it instead. Another piercing, to join the other gems. It wasn’t her doing, and that was what alarmed her most. 

 

     He knew what each one meant, what each one symbolized or could and had potentially meant. They were parting gifts; treasures of her heart and of her family; small pieces of her. Shaky fingers worried at the spot, terrible in their haste (and lack of ability) to retrieve the new piece of jewelry. He either didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, or perhaps hid it too well, because Maven’s hands slipped over hers with familiar ease. He retrieved what she had frantically tried to take, dropping it in her hand while still leaning too close. This prince of Norta did not smell like old metal, sweat, or sweet wine and old memories or safety, or warm fires and wood - smelled instead, of everything dangerous. He smelled of shadows, of biting metal, of smoke that choked your lungs, of spice, of harsh winters; he smelled of lies, of  _ death _ . 

 

     “A gift, a token of my kindness. I will let you decide who it is for. You do have so many friends, don’t you,  _ little lightning girl? _ ” He was not the snake, but the venom. 

 

     Rage swelled in her stomach, making everything hot and sick. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to retch or to wage a storm.  _ Shut up! _ She wanted to shout it, to scream at him and beat her fists into his chest, to rip him apart and tilt his world as terribly as he had hers.  _ Can you just shut up, for five minutes?! _ At once, she was, reminded of her exhaustion; of her infinitely weakened state. She verbally, said nothing. But they knew; he knew and he brushed a hand over her hair, the way a parent would reassure a troubled or sleepless child. She didn’t have the energy to raise her hands again. She was drained. He knew it. That wicked curl of lips made her shiver, and he carefully replaced the restraints. Usually, if she remembered correctly, they would take her for a walk. Exercise her. Today, she received nothing. No special treatment save for the ‘gift’ and his chilling words. 

 

Soon she was left with her own thoughts, left to ponder his words.   
Who was the new earpiece for? How did he find their group? Who  
did he take; who did he kill? Was this meant for Shade’s passing?   
           Kilorn or maybe even his own brother - Cal? She would not be  
           surprised, but it did not comfort her, even though she had been  
           angry with his lack of help when freeing the others. 

 

**_Who, who, who?_ **

     “You promised,” she croaked through cracked and dry lips, sandpaper throat already angry with her for the effort it took to push the words free. “You promised you would let them go.” She sounded weak, and it was disgusting. The door had already shut, King Maven no longer present to hear her pleading to the empty space. The sound came to her, delayed, and still not entirely clear. They had done a fair job of dulling her senses and ruining her heading - at least for now - with the Sounder. This was not the Mare Barrow that pluckily worked every angle to try and save her childhood friend from being sent to the Choke. This was not Mare Barrow the thief, or Mare Barrow as Mareena Titanos, or even The Little Lightning Girl, or Mare Barrow of the Scarlet Guard - neither Red nor Silver. 

  
  


This was Mare Barrow; the broken, prized trophy of a tyrant King.   
        This was Mare Barrow, the girl who could not hide her heart..

  _And now, everyone else would pay for it._


End file.
